Page 18 of Every Thought Taken

I rise from the chair, take her hand, and haul her to the mirror. At her side, I grip her shoulders and stare into the mirror. “Nope. You look more woman and less girl.”

Her lips curve up in a soft smile. “If you haven’t decided on a college major yet, fashion should be at the top of the list.”

I jolt back and furrow my brow. “College? We started high school a month ago.” One step after another, I back away until my legs bump the chair. “And I haven’t thought about what happens after.” My gaze meets hers. “At all.”

She and Lessa crowd the chair, Mags’s hand on my shoulder while Lessa strokes my hair.

“Didn’t mean to freak you out,” Mags says, a frown turning down her lips. “Just saying you’d be good at it.”

With a sigh, I nod. “Thank you.” I reach for her hand, then Lessa’s, and give them both a quick squeeze. “Love you both.”

“Love you back.” Lessa releases my hand. “Now, let’s try the rest of these on.” She pats her stomach. “Don’t know about you two, but I’m starving. And Dad said he was picking up pizza at five.”

I check my watch. “Best get moving.” I tap the watch face. “Thirty minutes.”

“Crap.” She darts for the dressing room, tugging up the shirt as she goes.

I laugh as she and Mags change into the next piece. Neither step out to show me anything new. They simply veto or approve them without further opinion.

While they pick and choose, I stare around the small boutique. In Stitches is the only all-feminine clothing store in Lake Lavender. On the outskirts of town is a shop with general clothes for all ages. Target, the sporting goods store, and the mall are about twenty minutes outside of town. We only venture there when necessary.

Could I work in a place like this? Recommending shirts and dresses and selling clothes? I have a keen eye for fashion and decorating, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be good at selling it.

Either way, it isn’t something I need to worry about today. I’d much rather focus on the present, on the fact that Grant Michaelson moved away over the summer and will no longer torment me in the halls. His snide remarks and loathsome smile are a thing of the past.

This year, I get to start fresh. This year, I don’t have a dark cloud named Grant looming nearby.

This year, maybe I’ll become the pretty girl.

CHAPTER10

ANDERSON

“Pizza is here,” Dad hollers as the front door closes with a loud thud.

I stare at the ceiling above my bed until Ales’s door opens and the girls shuffle down the hall. Sitting up, I swing my legs off the bed and take a moment to prepare for the onslaught of questions or comments to come.

Meals and forced time together are when I see my parents most. Dad is cool. He doesn’t pry and ask for specifics about my day. He doesn’t tell me I need to do more of this and less of that. And he doesn’t try to dictate every breath I take. Mom… well, she is the complete opposite.

“Where’s your school journal? Mr. Tran sent an email saying there’s a note in your journal.”

“Why didn’t you eat lunch today? Your father and I work hard so you have good lunches.”

“Where’s the paper for your science project? It’s not due until February, but you’d best start working on it now. You’ll forget around the holidays.”

“You got aBon your math test? You said you studied. Maybe I need to watch you study.”

Usually it’s one question per meal, but my lackluster answer is what riles her up. Not that I care. I gave up caring or trying to make her proud long ago. If I were more like Ales, maybe Mom would love me more. If I were more like my sister, maybe I would be happy.

Planting my feet on the floor, I push off the bed, amble out of my room and to the dining room. No one pays me any attention as I enter the room. Cancel that. Helena meets my gaze and smiles. The second her lips tip up, Mom twists in my direction and scowls.

“What took you so long? You’ve kept everyone waiting,” she scolds.

“Joan,” Dad admonishes. “He’s fine. I still need to grab plates and napkins.” We cross paths as he goes to the pantry. His hand lands on my shoulder and rubs twice before he pats it. “You’re fine, son. Take a seat.”

“Thanks,” I mutter.

I sit in the seat next to Helena and she bumps my shoulder.

---